My Goodbye
by Scream to the Stars
Summary: A conversation between the Eleventh and Clara where she makes him promise he'll give her an ending when the time comes.


**I thought of a phrase. I got obsessed with the phrase. I made it into a doctor who fic. My mental trail, everybody.**

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"You know something, Doctor," Clara said, leaning on the table with her chin in her hand. She smiled at him, cocking her head just slightly to the side. "I never asked you why you ran away from Gallifrey."

"We already went through this," he answered, looking up from whatever gadget he was fiddling with, "I didn't run away. I saved it and didn't know what to do, so I went to Earth." He scoffed, thinking her silly. How did she not realize this after witnessing all that happened just a few weeks ago?

"You so ran away," she laughed. "You're well over nine-hundred years old, Doctor, and you ran away from home. You never told me why."

"Do I need a reason?" he didn't look at her, a tell-tale sign that he wasn't having any of it. "You ran away with me when I asked, did you need a reason?"

"I suppose not," she said, surprised. She hadn't really expected him to turn this on her and she didn't like the loss of control. "Well, why do you keep running then?" she relaxed again; she always knew how to get their conversations under her command again.

"What do you mean? I just run all the time," he answered. "I don't know where I'm going most of the time and I don't have to care. I just keep running." He furrowed his brow at the gadget.

"Even if there wasn't a reason why you ran away from home, there has to be a reason you keep running," she sighed.

"Clara," his voice held a warning. "Right now I am very busy and I don't need you looking into my psyche for me. I didn't think you were a shrink you know."

"I'm not," she sounded offended, but he didn't look up, "I just want to know. You ask me things all the time just because you want to know, can't I be the same?" He wanted to laugh just then. She was so very like him. Wasn't that why he liked her so much?

"There has to be a reason you're asking."

"The wardrobe," she said suddenly, leaning towards him. "I was in there the other day, yeah? You have clothes from all different timeframes in there. Where did they come from?" He wondered where this was going. He couldn't follow her train of thought and it frustrated him.

"What do you mean? The TARDIS comes up with them," his voice irate, he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the gadget, scanning it.

"No it doesn't," she snapped. "You put it there. It's your home and it's got a lot of space to store things. You're old; it's no wonder you have so many things. You put the clothes there too and I want to know where they come from."

"They were just things that were left," he slapped the gadget on the table, producing a loud bang, and slumped back in his seat. "They were just things that were left behind, that's all. Why does it matter? It's like a thrift shop—things that people don't want anymore a-and they're just left for someone else. Does that satisfy you?" She'd hit a nerve, she could see it. He didn't like it when she had figured something out and she was too clever for her own good.

"If they were things that were just left, then why does it bother you so much? Why don't you look at them?" she asked, her voice challenging. When she wanted to know something she had a way of twisting her words and angering him, but it got him to talk. He knew it and he hated it. He hated that he gave into her like this. "You never go into that wardrobe Doctor, unless you're leaving something there. It's like a big memorial to something and I want to know what."

"It's not a memorial," he snapped, fiddling with the gadget again. "Why would it be a memorial? That's stupid. It's just a place for old clothes."

"You wouldn't keep them around if they didn't remind you of something," she said quickly, her sharp eyes watching him. She liked being in control and knew exactly what to say once she had him. He wondered how he had found someone that could match his wit so well. He wondered why he just had to go and choose this one; the one with wit and cleverness, the only one that could match him.

"You're always running. You're even trying to run from this conversation," she said her tone condescending. "Why are you always running?"

"Because, Clara," he said lowly, irritated, "If I stop _running_ , all the regrets from days before will catch up with me. All the pain I shove deep, deep down inside my hearts will surface. If I turn round and find that then I will be destroyed because of the overwhelming grief and sorrow. I will _never_ stop and I will _never_ turn round because it will hurt so much I will want to die," he finished reproachfully, shoving the gadget away from him. He was too miserable to fiddle with it now.

"You don't like goodbyes," she said suddenly.

"I don't like goodbyes because it means the end," he said, defeated. "I don't like goodbyes and I don't like endings because I've had too many. I'll keep running, forever. I'll never ever stop."

"Will you say goodbye to me?" she asked curiously. She wondered if he would answer. She wondered if he had enough care for her that he would give her this. He didn't answer, didn't look at her. He was so silent that it rung out around her, scaring her. "Doctor," she barked, "Will you say goodbye to me?" She wanted a confirmation. She didn't want him to just fly off one day and leave her without even a word.

"Don't concern yourself with it," he finally said, reaching for the gadget. Her hand shot out and she grabbed his hand tightly, her eyes boring holes into his when they slowly looked to her.

"I need to concern myself with it, because I need to know. If I die when we're together, I want a goodbye," she said sharply.

"You won't—"

"Don't," she interrupted. "Just listen," her voice was so very sharp and her eyes were so very piercing. "You need to promise me that you won't run away when it's time for goodbye. I won't be able to stand it if I don't get it."

"Alright, Clara," he said, his voice defeated once more and so, so soft. "I'll give you a goodbye. I'll give our story an ending." She squeezed his hand once but, before she could let it go, he grasped her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing her fingers. He released her and went for the gadget. She was surprised, very surprised, that he had given her such a moment. She quietly slid her hand off the table.

"So," she said, her voice no longer sharp. She wasn't looking for anything anymore. "Do you want a coffee?" she hopped out of her seat without waiting for a reply. She'd get him something even if he didn't answer.

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 **I could have written it with the twelfth doctor, but I have such a better handle on the eleventh's speech patterns and mannerisms. It's set after the 50th special, but before the regenerative Christmas special (obviously).  
**

 **The phrase was 'I run because, if I don't, all that I run from will catch up with me and destroy me.'**


End file.
